The afternoon was a positively wretched one, overcast and damp, the air saturated with the heavy oppressiveness of impending storms. Lightning seared brilliant, alabaster cracks within the swollen gray clouds while thunder rumbled angrily in protest, vying for the attention of the temperamental weathers company.

Lucius Malfoy stared into the courtyard below where his son, Draco, lay draped across an ornately twisted wrought-iron chair, a half-empty bottle of Merlot dangling from one pale hand. Although his son was nearly seventeen, his love of the drink was a bit too frequent for the likes of his father. Lucius himself had been known to become overly fond of wine upon occasion, but not nearly so often as Draco. The boy regularly invited drunkenness into his system and such neglect could lead to distraction during magical training. And Lucius could not have his son being any less than the most powerful wizard ever known. Next to himself, of course.

A frigid gust of wind whisked through the open window, billowing Lucius' hair into a fanning plume of flaxen and he drew the thick fabric of his cloak around his shoulders a bit more snugly. It was unusually cold for November and the clouds hinted ominously of snowfall.

Lighting flashed dangerously close to the Malfoy Estate and Lucius cast another glance at his lazy son. Had the child no sense at all, sitting in a chair of iron in the middle of an electrical storm such as this?!

"Draco!" Lucius called from the window, "come inside at once!"

Draco blissfully ignored his father's command, choosing instead to take another long swig from the wine bottle and settle himself more comfortably into the chair.

Lucius withdrew his wand and spoke a enchantment, sending a bolt of light sizzling towards the wine within his son's hand, shattering the bottle into fragments of feathery ash.

"Now, Draco," he said rather calmly, noting with pleasure the look of utter shock that overtook the boy's face at the sight of his beloved drink dissolving into airy nothingness.

The adolescent glared up at his father from his position and made an obscene gesture with one finger.

"Now, now, Draco. . . no need for rudeness. I simply do not wish to see you become a smoldering chunk of a child in that chair while this weather rages," Lucius called down to his son who got to his feet in a huff, his shoulder length blond hair partially falling from his ponytail as he stormed towards the front door.

Lucius smiled to himself. He quite enjoyed ruffling his son's feathers in this manner. He swept past the window which closed without command and strolled into the parlor where Draco now stood, leaning against one of the many pillars within the household, arms folded moodily across his chest, a scowl upon his face.

"Oh, stop your pouting," Lucius commanded, waving his hand dismissively. "I shall get you another bottle of something a bit less potent, for you are far too reckless with your wand when you are inebriated with red wine."

Dracos expression darkened considerably. "I am not a child, Father. I know my limits with the drink.""

Lucius arched one eyebrow at this ludicrous sentiment. "Are you?" he said cryptically, his hand lighting upon his wand once more.

Draco cringed. He hoped his father would not turn the ferns into miniature goblins once again and have them chase him about the house.

"What's for dinner?" he asked in a lame attempt to change the subject and possibly divert his father's attention from teaching him a lesson via magical, slime covered creatures.

Lucius was well aware of Dracos intent and withdrew the wand anyway, crossing the distance that separated the two of them and placing the tip of the magical instrument beneath Dracos chin.

"Dinner? Hmmmm," Lucius mused thoughtfully, noting the slight look of panic in the boys eyes and haughtily enjoying it. "Perhaps you should run along to the kitchen and ask before I change my mind about. . ."

He let the statement linger ominously as Draco backed away from him, nearly knocking over a rather expensive statue of some randomly nude goddess as he practically staggered from the room in his haste to escape his father's "teachings".

Lucius smiled to himself, for he much enjoyed intimidating all who he encountered, including his only child. In fact, he could think of no one who was not a bit fearful of him, save his wife, Narcissa. There were times, however, when he feared her!

She was coldly beautiful, this one. Very much like Lucius himself. . .which was, of course, why he had married her in the first place. She was the only creature that matched his beauty and at times, he would dare say she exceeded it.

Unfortunately, she also surpassed his frigidity and self-indulgent persona as well, leaving him to his own devices far more often that he would have liked.

He strolled into his personal study, waving the door shut behind him. Someone would call him when dinner was ready and until then, he would amuse himself by reading about the Dark Arts, a favorite past time he had always loved. There would be plenty of time to practice what he learned on a later occasion.

The lavish study was unusually cold despite the crackling fire that had been lit several hours ago by one of the house servants. In fact, the whole estate seemed oddly chilly.

Perhaps it was the sudden drop in temperature outside.

Lucius cleared his throat and coughed, swallowing thickly. The fire had made the air of the room quite parching. He walked to the bookcase where a crystal decanter of fine brandy and matching glass sat upon a marbled end table near his massive collection of literature and poured himself a hefty portion of the amber liquid. He then returned to his desk, glass cupped leisurely between his fingertips as he bent to peruse the contents of his latest find in evil prose, sipping the smoothly ambrosial alcohol, feeling its deceptive warmth whisk the chill from his bones, at least for the moment.

From his position at the desk, he could see that snow had in fact begun to fall, the first he had seen of it, signaling an early and possibly cold winter. It wasnt as if he minded it, really, for he rather enjoyed the pristine white blanket covering the vast acres of his estate, but he was not entirely fond of the temperature at the moment. Relaxing into the cushioned embrace of the chair, he drained the glass with a final swallow and set it upon the desk, plucking his quill pen from its resting place near a roll of parchment. He dipped it within the inkwell and began to take notes upon what he had just read, his penmanship sprawling across the page in long, fluid strokes of black perfection.

A particular potion had caught his eye and he wished to copy it into his collection for further analysis. Much to his annoyance, the scratch in his throat had not abated despite the drink and he coughed again, fisting his hand before his mouth, for he was, after all, ever the refined gentleman regardless of his malevolent reputation.

"Lucius, darling. . ." the smoothly bell-like voice of his wife rang out from the doorway.

He had not even heard her enter, so engrossed had he been in his work.

"Yes, my love?" he responded in between coughs, finally regaining full control of his voice.

She swept up to him, a vision of beauty wrapped in ebon silk, blonde hair spilling over her shoulders.

"I'm afraid I shall be unable to join you for dinner, for I have an appointment that I simply cannot miss," Narcissa said, extending a hand tipped with perfectly polished nails towards her husband, which he took within his own and brought to his lips.

"Ah, we shall miss the company of your loveliness," Lucius said, planting a soft kiss upon her knuckles, which seemed to please her greatly.

"You shameless flatterer," she teased, withdrawing her fingers from his grasp.

He cast her a rather sexy lopsided grin. "It works, does it not, my love?"

"Cad," she admonished him playfully.

He arched one eyebrow to match the crooked smile. "Indeed."

It was rare to see his wife in such a pleasant mood, for she was as arrogant and aloof as Lucius himself for the most part. The "appointment" that she spoke of probably involved some form of beauty maintenance and judging by the regal manner in which she had clothed herself, it was expensive and upscale, requiring her to be seen by many of her peers. She must, after all, greatly outshine them at all times.

He was about to comment on her supremely beautiful appearance, but much to utter disgust, his voice faltered into another fit of coughing, which he muffled with one hand.

Narcissa's blue eyes narrowed suspiciously and she took a step back, holding the hand that he had he recently kissed away from her body as if it were tainted in some manner.

"Lucius," she began almost icily, "what is wrong with you? Are you falling ill?"

"Of course not!" he practically snapped in exasperation. "It is this accursed weather."

Narcissa looked most unconvinced. "Well, do stay away from me, then," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "I have far too much to do without the curse of sickness upon me. Perhaps you should spend the night in one of the guest rooms so you do not pass your disease to me."

Lucius snorted. "There is nothing wrong with me!" he insisted, rising to his feet and glaring down at his rather petite wife, brandy glass clutched firmly within his hand.

Narcissa was not impressed by his attempt to intimidate her with his imposing stature, matching his glowering gaze with a coolly frigid stare of her own.

"Ugh, Lucius. . . get away. Do not breathe on me," she said, giving him a good shove with one delicate hand.

"Oh, dont worry, my pet. I shall not even come within ten feet of your air space," he sneered, setting the glass back upon the desk, lest he crush it within his ever tightening grip.

It was quite easy to see just where Draco got his unruly tendency for insubordination from. . .

"Make it twenty feet just to be certain," Narcissa said.

Lucius laughed, a short, barking sound. "Perhaps I should sleep in the kennels instead."

"If you wish," Narcissa replied, her voice calmly indifferent. "Good evening, Lucius. I shall see you on the morrow."

"Have a pleasant night, my love," he said sardonically as she swept from the room with a rustle of silk.

He snatched up the brandy glass once more and walked to the decanter, refilling it with nearly twice as much as he had previously drank. Bringing it to his lips, he was halted by a sensation far more unpleasant than the coughing he had so recently endured. He set the glass abruptly upon the nearest shelf and whipped a handkerchief from his pocket just in time to catch a rather harsh sneeze, followed closely by a forceful second and much to his dismay, a powerful third.

Lucius groaned aloud, for there was only one reason for him to sneeze in that particular number and with such force. His wife had been revoltingly correct in her assumptions. He had managed to contract a wizards worst nightmare, the dreaded common cold with a twist that foiled one's magical skills into fractured oblivion.

How he despised it when Narcissa was right. . .